Scars
by Accio-Night
Summary: It's been six months since The Battle of Hogwarts was won. The war has taken a toll on Harry, Ron, and Hermione and they struggle to rebuild their lives and learn how to live without having to fight.


**Chapter One – Aftermath**

It was six months since the War ended. Six months since he defeated Voldemort, since the Battle of Hogwarts, since Sirius, Dumbledore, Dobby, Snape, Fred, Tonks, Lupin, and almost everyone he cared about had been killed. He didn't know how to stop fighting and live normally. He had never known normal. His whole life had been spent fighting, in one way or another. Fighting the oppression of the Dursleys, fighting Dudley and his gang of bullies, fighting for his life, year after year at Hogwarts, and finally fighting the War. How was he to carry on normally after everything he had seen, everything he had done? His one true home had been destroyed. Those closest to him had suffered or died to help him. He had looked death in the face and lived. Every familiar face just reminded him of the guilt he carried around, of the lives and families that had been ruined forever, all because of him.

What made it worse was that he was regarded as a hero, and the Daily Prophet heralded him 'the champion of a generation'. Everyone congratulated him wherever he went, and showered him with gifts, but he could always tell which of the people in the throngs of crowds had lost loved ones in the War, for their hollow eyes just gazed at him. Rita Skeeter had just come out with her latest tell-all biography, this time about him, entitled "Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lied". Luckily, very few seemed to take to it.

He had been fighting so long, struggling to survive each day, that his mind hadn't even registered everything he had gone through, everyone he had lost. It was only afterwards, when he was finally able to slow down, that the full implications began to dawn on him. His heart felt like it had been gripped by an iron vice, and he was constantly filled with an overwhelming sorrow.

In the beginning, he tried to forget, to force down those awful memories and just move on with his life. He got a regular job at the Ministry, as an Auror. Unfortunately he had to complete two years of desk work, paying his dues, before he was allowed to work in the field, and the mundane paperwork was hardly enough distraction from his torturous thoughts. Around Hermione and Ron, he put on a brave face and pretended to smile as though nothing had changed, but every time he saw their faces, saw how their smiles never quite reached their eyes, saw the _mudblood_ scar on Hermione's arm, all those memories came crawling right back to haunt him. He could hardly even sleep - the moment he closed his eyes he saw Voldemort's cold, red, snake-like slits boring into him; saw Fred's last laugh etched upon his face; saw Sirius slip through the veil...it was all too much. Ginny saw him withering away, with his ever-present dark circles and bloodshot eyes. She worried for him, and he knew it. But there was nothing she, or anyone, could do. He had been forced to start drinking sleeping potions before bed just to get some rest.

Ron had changed, too. The loss of his brother and the experience of the whole War had warped him, and turned him into a darker, crueler version of himself. He had lost much of his humour and his child-like innocence was gone forever. Harry would often catch him staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. He began drinking to forget, and on one such occasion, he had struck Hermione in a jealous rage. She forgave him, knowing that it wasn't really her he was angry at. Harry told her to leave him, but she just couldn't. She still held on to the memory of the sweet, loyal boy that Ron once was. She was too blinded by her love for him to see that she clung on to a person that no longer existed.

Watching Hermione put up with the abuse broke something inside of Harry. He knew that she would never have tolerated such treatment in the past. She feared leaving him, because she thought herself too damaged to be loved by anyone who had not shared the same experience. Deep down, all three of them shared in this belief. Nobody else would ever be able to relate to their situation, to understand the horrors they had endured. Eventually, it became too much for Harry to watch. He confronted Ron one night, finding him incoherently drunk at a local pub, and half pulled, half dragged him into the nearby alleyway to talk to him. He told Ron that if he ever laid a hand on Hermione again, he would tell Molly exactly what he had been up to all those late nights he supposedly spent 'at work'. Ron just looked at him, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Then he disapparated and was gone.

Ron seemed to have fallen right off the map. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nobody had seen him or knew where he had gone to. Molly was worried sick, and Hermione was utterly heartbroken that he had left her without so much as a word. Harry felt awful for having caused his disappearance, but he dared not tell Hermione about their late night encounter, for fear of losing her too. He could only hold her as she cried and cried into his shoulder. The whole situation felt all too familiar, and Harry was reminded of that night in the tent all those months ago, when Ron had left them in a jealous fury. If Hermione had been devastated before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. He had never seen her look so defeated.

Hermione tried to heal by immersing herself in her work. She had gotten a high-ranking position at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she spent long hours at the office, filing paperwork and ensuring that every criminal was properly brought to justice. She was living in a little flat in London, and would arrive home very late from work, and leave very early the next morning. Harry hardly saw her anymore. He sent her owls from time to time, to check up on her, but she ignored them. He came to her doorstep on several occasions to make sure she was alright, but she never answered the door. He knew she needed space to sort herself out and heal, but he worried about her.

Between her, Ron's sudden disappearance and Ginny's fits of crying (she tried to hide them from him, and shut herself away in the bathroom when they began, but he always knew), this whole life was getting too much to take. He couldn't handle the media attention following him wherever he went, he couldn't handle watching his closest friends falling apart right before his eyes, and he couldn't handle the tired, lifeless eyes of family members of those lost to the War that were ever-present, watching him. Everything he had once loved about magic and the wizarding world now became something that repelled him, a reminder of the nightmare he had lived through. He longed for normalcy, or some semblance of it, at least.

One morning, he awoke with resolve. He had to leave everything familiar to him and start anew. He packed his bags as minimally as possible. He hadn't gotten another owl since Hedwig's death, he just couldn't bear to replace her, so he didn't have much to take. He threw a few pairs of pants, socks, and shirts into his bag, along with a wallet full of muggle money (as well as some wizarding money) and a muggle credit card in his name. He lifted his wand from his bedside table, and held it tenderly. That holly and phoenix feather stick he was so exhilarated to receive all those years ago at Ollivander's. The same wand that had fought with him loyally year after year, and that had protected him when he himself could not. He remembered how devastated he had felt when it had broken, and how elated when he was finally able to repair it with the Elder wand. Using another wand had felt so wrong, so alien in his hands. He stowed it away in a side pocket of his bag. This was probably the first ever time he hadn't stuck it in his back pocket when he was going somewhere. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, threw his rucksack over his shoulder, and was out the door without a second glance. He had decided to leave his broomstick, for it would attract too much unwanted attention if he was seen walking around with it outside. Attention meant people, and people asked questions. Questions he had no intention of answering.

**Chapter Two - At Hermione's**

His first stop was Hermione's. He couldn't leave without some sort of explanation. He didn't want to do what Ron had done to her. He owed her that, at least. When he arrived at her door, he realized he didn't know exactly what to tell her. He was completely unprepared. He also realized that she had probably left for work already. He felt foolish for not having planned this out better.

At that precise moment, the door of her apartment opened, and a bewildered Hermione walked right into him.

"Blimey, Harry! What are you doing, standing right outside my door, quiet as a mouse? Were you trying to listen in?"

Flustered, Harry tried to explain. "No! Sorry. I was...just about to knock, actually. Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak to you. It's...important." Hermione eyed him warily, and finally beckoned him inside.

"Shall I make some coffee? Is everything alright?" Harry was surprised at how normal she was acting, considering she had practically ignored his every attempt to contact her for the last couple of months. He noted, however, that her eyes were just as red and puffy as they were the last time he had seen her.

"Well yes...and no. And coffee would be great, thanks." He looked around her apartment. It was extraordinarily organized, with the exception of piles books scattered everywhere, in typical Hermione fashion. He smiled. Some things, at least, never change.

She returned with two steaming mugs of coffee, and sat down opposite him, in a plush armchair. It reminded him of the ones in the Gryffindor common room. She looked at him expectantly.

"Hermione, I've got to tell you something, and you're probably not going to like it. I...I've got to get out of here. I just can't be here anymore. Everything reminds me of...you know. I can't take the press following me around and treating me like I'm some kind of god. I need some space to breathe, to find out who I am, and to make some kind of life for myself. I just can't do that here."

Hermione didn't say anything for a long while, she just looked at him sadly. He knew that she understood, she didn't have to say so. Finally, she spoke.

"So where are you headed?"

"I'm not sure. I'm just going. I'm going, and I'm not going to stop until I'm far, far away from here, and nobody knows who I am or what I've done."

Again, she was quiet. She sipped her coffee, and kept her eyes trained on the hardwood floors. When she finally spoke, there was a quiver in her voice.

"So I won't be able to reach you then?" She finally looked up at him, and he could see that her eyes were filled with tears. He didn't know what to say. He felt terrible for leaving her. Without thinking, he said,

"You can come with me, if you like." He regretted saying it immediately. That defeated the whole purpose of him leaving. She shook her head.

"I can't just leave, Harry. I've got a job here...I've got a life here. And if Ron comes back..." she trailed off as her voice broke. He nodded.

"I've made you this," he said, handing her a gold coin, "I got the idea from you, actually. Do you remember how we had that communication system for the DA in fifth year? Well, I've bewitched the coin to give you my permanent address, once I've found one, wherever I am, so you can write me if you want. But please, send it through the muggle post, I can't have owls showing up wherever I am," he added, chuckling half-heartedly.

All she could manage was a nod, but she accepted the coin, tucking it into the pocket of her skirt.

"And what about Ginny? Have you told her, or are you just going to disappear?," she asked, a little bitterly. Harry felt ashamed. He hadn't even thought of Ginny, in truth. He would have to let her know, somehow.

"She's out of town at the moment. She's spending some time at Bill and Fleur's, but I'm going to leave her a note. You're the first person I've told, Hermione."

"A note. Wonderful. I'm sure she'll be overjoyed to find a note in place of her boyfriend," she quipped sarcastically. Feeling instant regret, she covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean that. It's just that -"

Harry cut her off. "I know." They locked eyes, and some silent understanding passed between them. They stood up.

"So that's it then? This is goodbye? The 'golden trio' as they call us, parting ways at last?" Hermione's voice was hard as she spoke.

"Hermione..." Harry took a tentative step towards her. In an instant, Hermione was in his arms, embracing him tightly as they had done so many times before. He heard her quietly sobbing. Finally, she pulled away.

"Be safe, Harry," she said, tears still streaming down her face.

"You too, Hermione." And then, he was gone.

**Chapter Three - King's Cross**

He found he had apparated to the first place he had though of: King's Cross Station. He had to figure out a way to get a message to Ginny. He dug around in his pockets, and luckily found a small piece of scrap parchment. He took out a pen from his rucksack and scribbled the words,

_Ginny - I'm so sorry, but I had to leave. I just couldn't take it anymore. Don't look for me. I don't know if I'll ever return. Don't wait for me. _He hesitated, his pen poised mid-air. Finally, he added, _I love you. -H_

He folded up the piece of parchment and placed a clever little nonverbal enchantment on it, one that Hermione showed him once. On second thought, he added a protective charm, so that only Ginny would be able to read it. The paper silently glided through the air and out an open window, in the direction of Shell Cottage. Harry felt sick to his stomach about what he had done to Ginny, but he knew in his heart that it was necessary. He bought a ticket for the first departing train, which happened to be to Paris. _I think I'll like Paris,_ Harry thought, as he handed over the muggle money.

The train wasn't to leave for another half hour, so in the meantime, Harry bought a ham sandwich and a few other snacks from a nearby cafe. He realized it was nearly noon and he hadn't yet touched food - he was famished. He sat on a bench at the station, ate his sandwich, and waited for his train. Luckily, there only seemed to be muggles around, since it wasn't yet September, so he wasn't getting any funny looks or unwanted attention. He relished the rare anonymity.

He finished his sandwich, brushed the crumbs off his lap, and looked around. The last time he had been here, he had seen a vision of Dumbledore, and even conversed with him. He still wasn't sure if that had really happened, but it had certainly felt real to him. He wondered when, if ever, he would be here again.

He heard, then saw, his train arriving in the distance. It was much more high-tech than the Hogwarts Express was. As it whirred to a halt, Harry took one last look around him and boarded the train.

The train was fairly empty, so Harry was able to find a compartment all to himself. He stowed his rucksack away on the shelf above him, put his feet up on the second seat, leaned against the window, and closed his eyes. He wondered what Ginny would think once she got his note. He knew she's be both furious with him and heartbroken. But would she understand, the way Hermione had, inherently? He wasn't sure. He just hoped that she would be able to forgive him, in time. Though his heart ached for her, he hoped that she would find someone else to be happy with. He didn't want her to be alone.

Then he thought about Hermione, and how she was dealing with things. Above all, he hoped she would be okay. Part of him wished she had decided to come with him, painful as that would have been for them both. It felt so strange to have parted from her - they had grown up together, and along with Ron, the trio had rarely been apart. They had gone on so many adventures, and fought so many battles together. They were the only two people in the world Harry trusted with anything. They understood each other on a level no one, not even Ginny, could comprehend. But now Ron was gone, and he had followed suit, it seemed...

Harry awoke with a start. He hadn't even realized that he had dozed off. He looked out the window, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. All he could see was lush countryside, which didn't tell him much. Fortunately, an announcement came on the intercom saying that they would arrive in Paris in one hour. He sighed, shaking the last bit of sleep off.

He decided to visit the bathroom to tidy himself up a little before they arrived in the city. As he looked at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror, he realized that he was all too recognizable. If he were to truly go unnoticed and get a fresh start, he needed to change his appearance a bit, in case members of the wizarding community spotted him in Paris. He headed back to his compartment, grabbed his wand out of his bag, stuck it up his sleeve, and re-entered the bathroom. He decided to try out the spell that Hermione had harped at him about numerous times. She was always saying how he needn't wear glasses, since he could just magically repair his eyesight. He was so used to his glasses, however, that he always refused to let her do the spell.

Now, he looked at his reflection. His trademark scar, brilliant green eyes and round glasses were what made him so recognizable. He didn't want to change his eye color, since he cherished having his mother's eyes, but he certainly could get rid of the glasses. He pulled them off and looked back at his (now blurry) reflection in the mirror. It was strange, seeing himself without them, they had almost become like another facial feature. He tentatively pointed his wand at his eyes, and hoped to Merlin that Hermione was right about this_. _But then, when had Hermione ever been wrong about a spell? Encouraged, he steadied his hand and whispered, "Oculus curatio". Instantly, his vision cleared, and he could see perfectly.

He considered keeping his now useless glasses as a token of his past, but decided against it. _Clean slate. No mementos,_ he thought, tossing them in the trash. He styled his messy black hair in such a way that it mostly covered his scar, straightened his shirt, tucked his his wand back in his sleeve, and exited the bathroom.

**Chapter Four - Paris**

He had finally arrived in Paris. He stepped off the train, at the _Gare du Nord_ train station. He hadn't made any sort of arrangements for himself, so he figured his first step would be figuring out a place to live, at least for a while. After asking around, and looking at some maps, he finally settled on a little motel on the outskirts of Paris. He was used to living modestly, and he didn't see why he should stop now, even though he could afford quite a more luxurious lifestyle. Luckily, he had enough muggle money in his account to last him for quite some time, since the muggle Prime Minister had awarded him a significant monetary prize for his services to the country, after the War ended. There was no ceremony or word in the muggle papers, of course, but the full sum was deposited in his bank account the following day.

He took a taxi from the train station to downtown Paris, so that he could do a bit of sightseeing before checking into his room at the motel. For the first time in such a long time, he was going to be a normal person, with a normal life.

Although he tried to forget everything he had left behind, he was still plagued with worries about what was happening back home. Had Ginny gotten his note yet? What would Molly think when she found out? Would she despise him? He felt especially terrible about leaving Molly without so much as a goodbye, she had always been so kind to him, and treated him like one of her own children.

And what about his old professors? Would McGonagall be disappointed in him, for abandoning everything and everyone? Would she think he had failed? And what about Hagrid? And how would George be coping, now that he had lost both his twin, then Ron, and now Harry?

He had to get all these thoughts out of his head. He was not responsible for how everyone was feeling. For once in his life, he had to put himself first. He had to screw his own head on straight before he could deal with anyone else's issues. He began walking briskly, as though his speed could outrun the thoughts that followed him wherever he went. _Cedric... Sirius... Dobby... Dumbledore... Hedwig... Mad-Eye... Snape... Fred... Tonks... Lupin... _He was hardly even taking in his surroundings. He noticed that he was quite near the Eiffel Tower, and for the first time, all heads were turned to stare at something other than him. It felt like a relief.

Here he was Harry, just Harry. Not a freak, not a wizard, not a hero, not a deity, not a murderer...just Harry. And it felt so good. He took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. His stomach rumbled, and he realized that he was already hungry. It had been hours since he had eaten that measly sandwich, and he longed for a real meal. But it was only five o'clock, not yet suppertime. He looked around, and saw a bistro a little way off. _Perfect,_ he thought.

Out of habit, he nervously tried to flatten his hair over his scar before stepping inside. _Just in case_, he thought. It was quite dimly lit, the place was illuminated only by candlelight and the bit of sun that managed to come through the small windows. He chose a seat near the back of the place, where it was darkest. As he slipped into the booth, he realized that the darkness would help conceal his identity. Perhaps this would become a favorite spot of his, he mused.

When the waiter came around, he ordered the _steak frites _and a glass of red wine. _This is the life, he thought_, smiling to himself. He dug into his meal ravenously, and when he finished his glass of wine, he ordered another. The slight buzz it gave him made everything seem a little less dismal. He leaned back in the booth and patted his stomach. It had been a while since he had been able to eat so heartily.

He noticed a pretty blonde girl with long legs sauntering over in his direction. She slid into his booth, opposite him, and flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Pourquoi êtes-vous manger toutes seules, mon cher?", she asked, batting her eyelashes at him flirtatiously. He smiled back, desperately wishing that he had studied French instead of ancient runes.

"Er, I'm sorry, but I only speak English," he replied regretfully.

"Oh, iz okay! I speak un petit peu of English too!", she said, smiling and leaning towards him, slightly. She was playing with a strand of her long, blonde hair, and looking into his eyes. Harry tried to suppress a memory of Ginny, and her beautiful red mane. He smiled back, and ordered two more glasses of wine.

"So, why are you sitting 'ere all alone? Where iz your girlfriend?", she teased. A shadow passed over his face, which she seemed to miss completely.

"I...I...I'm single," he managed to stammer out. He immediately felt awful for saying it, but wasn't it true? He had ended it with Ginny, even if he did still love her. He noticed the girl's eyes flash, and her smile widened.

"I'm Sophie," she said, and he felt her foot reach under the table and caress his calf. His eyes widened at her forwardness, but he grabbed his wine glass and downed the remaining liquid.

"I'm...Harry," he replied. He had tried to come up with an alias, but hadn't thought of anything in time. _Damn that wine_, he thought.

"So, 'Arry, where are you staying tonight?"

**Chapter Five - Shell Cottage**

Hermione's alarm rang at 5:30 am. She groaned, rolled over, and shut it off. She was going to call in sick today, something she never did. For the first time, she didn't think work was going to help her cope. And today, she had more important things to do.

When she woke up again, two hours later, she showered, got dressed, and made herself a cup of tea. It was the first full day of Harry being gone. It didn't really feel any different to her, since most days she didn't see Harry anyway. She looked out of her window at the busy street below. She was living near Piccadilly Circus, and she could see all the cars frantically trying to get to work. She felt sorry for muggles, who couldn't just apparate there. It must be stressful being stuck in rush-hour traffic, she thought.

As she did every morning, she wondered where Ron was, and if he was okay. She wondering if he was with some other girl, if he was drunk, if he missed her, and if she would ever see him again. She needed answers. Unfortunately, Ron was not a topic she could just look up in the library, which is what she usually did when she had questions that needed answering.

But this particular morning, she had another person to wonder about: Harry. She knew why he had to leave. Deep down, she was envious that he had the courage to do what she secretly wanted to, but could not. She had to stay strong, keep a steady job, and appear to lead a normal life. She knew if she did anything but that people would think that she was broken. She would not let anyone see her that way. If she did, then even though Voldemort was gone, he had won. She had to keep her chin up and act like everything was okay. It didn't matter that Ron was a drunk. It didn't matter that he had struck her in a moment of drunken rage. It didn't matter that he had left her high and dry. It didn't matter that she was all alone, and that her supposed two best friends had abandoned her without so much as a second thought. She was Hermione Granger and she could get through this, as she always did. The War did not ruin her. She would stay rational and take it day by day. Emotions were for the night, when nobody could see her and she was free to cry herself to sleep.

But she had business to do. She finished her tea, pulled on her fleece coat, stuck her wand into an inside pocket, and was out the door.

Her first stop was to see Ginny. She knew that by now she must have read the letter than Harry had sent her, and she had to make sure she was doing okay. She found an empty alley, pictured Shell Cottage in her mind, and spun on her heel.

The wind whipped tendrils of her hair around, and they stung her face as they hit. It was much colder here, by the water, and she clutched her coat tightly around her. Hermione took a deep breath of the salty sea air. She let the cool air fill her lungs before she released it again. She walked to the door of the cottage, and knocked.

"Who is it?", came a deep male voice within.

"It's me, Hermione. May I come in?", she called back.

Bill answered the door, looking at her solemnly before gesturing her inside. Ginny was sitting hunched over at the wooden kitchen table, sobbing. "He...he just...left!", she howled, in explanation. She lifted Harry's note, and offered it to her. Hermione took the note and sat beside her, putting her arm around Ginny's shoulders.

"I know," was all she said. Ginny looked at her questioningly.

"So he wrote to you too, then?", Ginny asked. Hermione felt her face flush with guilt, although she had no reason to feel so.

"He...he came to see me before he left," said Hermione. Ginny turned to look at her, and Hermione could see the accusation in her eyes.

"He came to see _you_?", she demanded, instantly shrugging Hermione's arm off her shoulders.

"I'm sure he would have visited you, but he just felt so terrible...I could tell...he just...couldn't face you, because he cares about you too much," Hermione said quickly, trying to repair the damage done. She had not intended for her visit to go this way. She was here to comfort Ginny, not make her feel worse. But still, Ginny had no right to accuse her, what Harry did or did not do was not in her control.

"I'd like you to leave now," Ginny said coldly. Hermione was taken aback.

"Ginny, I -"

"Now." Hermione looked frantically to Bill, who shook his head apologetically but said nothing. She took one last look back at Ginny, and then walked out of the cottage.

"Say 'hi' to Fleur for me, will you?", she whispered to Bill on her way out. He nodded.

Once outside, she reflected on what had just happened. She could not believe the visit had gone so poorly. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought Ginny would kick her out. She tried to rationalize. _She's hurting right now. She'll realize her mistake soon enough. I shouldn't take it personally,_ she thought.

She sighed as she contemplated her next move, her eyes stinging from the cool wind.

**Chapter Six - Ambushed**

When Harry awoke, Sophie was already gone. No note, nothing. Just the scent of her perfume on his pillow. He sat up, and realized his head was pounding from the hangover. He didn't often drink, but he drank a lot of wine the previous night. He tried to remember what had happened the night before. Though his memory was foggy, he still remembered most of it.

He had met Sophie at _Chez Bernard's_, the bistro he had dinner at. She had made her intentions quite clear, and after several glasses of wine, he had brought her by taxi to his motel room, where they had slept together. It was the first time he had been with a woman other than Ginny, and though he felt uncomfortable at first, the wine helped to take the edge off. Plus, Sophie was a beautiful girl, and it was flattering that she desired someone like him, without knowing anything about him or what he had done. He smiled at the memory, but his happiness was short lived when he realized how terrible Ginny would feel if she ever found out about it. He groaned and tried to push thoughts of Ginny away. Thinking of her just made everything so much harder.

He took a hot shower and pulled on some clean clothes from inside his rucksack. He noticed the side pocket, where he kept his wand, was unzipped. _That's funny_, he thought, _I don't remember doing that. _He brushed the thought aside, deciding he probably had opened it at some point in the night, but then forgotten about it.

He wondered when Sophie had left. They got back to the motel probably around nine or ten 'o clock. It couldn't have been very late since he had such an early supper. He fell asleep soon after they had finished having sex, and assumed she had too. He realized that it was quite possible that she had left the previous night, rather than early this morning. He had no real way of knowing.

His head was still throbbing, so he decided to go look for some coffee. He opened the door to a flashbulb going off in his face.

"Harry Potter, why the sudden disappearance? Why Paris? And what -"

Harry slammed the door in the reporter's face and swore. _How did they find me here?_, he wondered. _I've been careful, I've told no one, not even Hermione or Ginny where I was going. How on earth did they know?_ Then it struck him. _Sophie._

She must have been a member of the wizarding community. She must have recognized him at the bistro and alerted the press, for a fee, of course.

_Shit. How could I have been so stupid? If Ginny sees the paper...If they wrote about Sophie...Oh god. _He could only imagine the headlines: 'Harry Potter Runs to Paris For a Fling', or 'Trouble in Paradise? Has Harry Grown Tired of Ginny?' Rita Skeeter would have a field day.

He had to figure out a plan. He had to get out of Paris, that much was obvious. But where would he go? What would he do? And should he write to Ginny to explain? He couldn't think. The small motel room was starting to feel claustrophobic, knowing that there were reporters lying in wait right outside his door.

He grabbed his old clothes off the motel room floor, threw them into his bag, tossed it over his shoulder and disapparated.

**Chapter Seven - Fallout**

Hermione apparated back home. Her original plan had been to visit The Burrow to see Molly, Arthur, and the rest of the Weasleys, but after her disastrous visit with Ginny she wasn't so sure that was a good idea anymore.

She had left so abruptly in the morning that she hadn't even eaten or read today's _Daily Prophet _yet. She prepared herself some cucumber sandwiches and coffee, and as she settled down at her kitchen table to eat, she unfolded the _Prophet _and was shocked to see the headline on the front page:

'Harry Potter Spotted In Paris With Mystery Woman'.

She gasped. There was no way this could be true, she thought. She skimmed through the article and read the details. It claimed that Harry had left London the previous day without telling anyone, and that he was spotted at a bistro in Paris canoodling with an unnamed blonde. Apparently they left the restaurant around 9:30 and took a cab to his motel room, where they spent the night. To make matters worse, there was a photo of Harry and the blonde, asleep in bed. Her face was mostly hidden by her long blond hair, but Harry was unmistakable.

This was a disaster, she thought to herself. How could Harry do this to Ginny? They hadn't even been broken up for a day yet! Luckily Bill and Fleur didn't subscribe to the paper, otherwise Ginny would have already seen the headline. But the three of them were probably the only ones in the wizarding world who hadn't yet. _What is Molly thinking?_, she wondered.

The article continued on page 8, which contained various peoples' speculations as to why Harry had left, as well as a photo of the motel room, and one of Harry's wand, which was supposedly proof that it really was him, and not some impostor. Hermione wondered if Harry had somehow found out about this whole debacle, or if he was oblivious to the whole thing. She should be angry at him, she thought, for what he did to Ginny; but all she could feel was worried about him. More than ever, she wished she had gone with him so that this whole crisis could have been avoided. Whatever the reason that Harry had decided to hook up with the blonde, be it alcohol, poor judgement, or otherwise, had Hermione had been there, she would have prevented the situation. She was sure of it.

She scooped Crookshanks off the floor and tried to snuggle him to clear her head. Indignant at having been interrupted from patrolling the room for mice, he hissed and jumped out of her arms, looking back at her haughtily before padding away. _Not you too, Crookshanks,_ thought Hermione sadly.

She had to find a way to contact Harry, and to let him know what was happening here. She picked up the enchanted galleon from her coffee table and looked at it, turning it over in her palm. It looked completely normal, with no indication of Harry's whereabouts on it. _That must mean he's on the move_, she thought. She didn't know what to do. With no address, she couldn't attempt to reach him, and had to simply hope that he would contact her instead.

She wished Ron was here with her. She wished that he was his old self and that they could discuss this issue like they used to, and come up with a clever solution together. How strange it was that their friendship had been so much stronger before the War ended. She always thought that afterwards they would be just as close, if not closer, now that the perils were gone and they could finally relax.

Hermione rested her head on her hand and began to reminisce about all the good times the three of them had together. How nothing could come between them, not even the threat of death. How Ron had sacrificed himself on the chessboard in first year, how she had defensively stood in front of Harry in third year, back when they thought Sirius was out to kill Harry, how Harry had rescued Ron from the mermaids during the Triwizard Tournament, and wanted to save her too, before Krum came along. They had always been there for each other.

_How did things end up like this?_


End file.
